my hand's writing is sandy with
residual doubt
and the mornings are fine, resembling
times i had with others
i try to imitate
and the spotlight never seems to stay still enough--
never rests at the right spot--
and my judgment is blurred
when it's time to decide
if we are pot bound
or about to experience
root rot
you will see me soon
and if not soon, sooner
so that
i can let you know
there will be no later.
your precious,
precious soul
just could not fill
in the empties
with the correct vowels
despite
all of your consonants.
when does the story begin is it when you are running late to school and you get smacked in the face with super powers granted to you from the moon, or is it after the failed heist when you got tagged in the gut and that guy named Mr. is holding you in his arms or is it when Im singing "Closing time every new beginning starts with some other beginning's end...Yeah."
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